Flighty Mind
by Lolenone
Summary: Tag to 'Boxed In'. Tony's thoughts after he got home from work that day. Twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

Flighty Mind

The disappointment quickly turned into numbness.

As soon as the door to his apartment closed, the deep, graveling disappointment disappeared and was replaced with a cold, icy numbness; its icy fingers clutching his insides.

It felt like someone had pulled a bag off his head; and, contrary to popular beliefs, the feeling wasn't one of enlightenment; but one of sorrow.

He knew he got on their nerves, he knew he acted like a shallow frat boy; but he would never have thought they would exclude him like _this_ because of it. If that wasn't the reason Ziva hadn't invited him to dinner, when she had invited the _autopsy gremlin_, Tony didn't know what the reason was. Maybe she just did not like him?

That thought made Tony's knees go weak.

His brain flashed back, he could clearly remember other times where they had excluded him as well; small things no other but him would notice. Tony wasn't even sure McGee was aware he was doing it. It was all Ziva's doing. Kate had never been like that.

Kate had been annoying, condescending and a _sister_; whom he had trusted and been trusted by.

Tony didn't think Ziva believed he could do anything else then fret, boast, read porn and annoy her. Well, she knew he could shoot a gun and run pretty fast; but she acted like these things were one time happenings. It made Tony angry to think that she didn't think he could do a good job hunting down a subject or following up on leads. Every time he did these things, she acted surprised.

The numbness turned into anger.

She knew nothing about him. She didn't hold the right to say that she knew who Anthony DiNozzo Junior was; no one really did. But she especially didn't.

She had never asked him, seriously, that is, how his childhood was, where he went to school or why he became a cop in the first place. Abby had asked, Ducky had asked, and even Gibbs had asked, on some level. McGee had always been a little too intimidated to ask such personal questions, but Tony didn't mind; the kid was too green to really get mad at. But it had to be him offering the information to her, without her asking.

It all burned down to one thing; Ziva's ego.

The anger drained out as fast as it flared up.

She was very talented at everything she did, so Tony supposed she had the right to have a well inflated ego.

The self consciousness and doubt came storming down upon his battered mind, leaving his thoughts scattered all over the place.

Without really knowing what he was doing, Tony put on his jacket, picked up his gun and keys and walked out of his dark, untidy apartment. He shouldn't have denied Sophie, his teenage neighbour, the job of cleaning his place twice a week for cheep pay. Oh well, he'd talk to her later.

Soon he was placed behind the wheel of his beloved car, driving down the dark road. He ignored the flash of pain in his arm as he swung the car door open. He didn't really realise where he was until the strong smell of coffee wafted towards him as he stepped into the scarcely furnished sitting room, the dim lights throwing ominous shadows against the bare walls.

He gave a resigned sigh as he walked towards the door leading to where he knew his boss was. With the door opened, he could hear the rhythmical sound of someone rubbing back and forth on wood; a calming, hypnotic sound to Tony's ears. He arrived at the bottom of the wooden stairs, looking around the unlit basement. There was no half dirty glass filled with bourbon on the workbench; indicating that his boss was, not happy, but content. You could never say that L. Jethro Gibbs ever looked or acted really _happy_, like normal people tried to be all their life; only the lucky ones _really _succeeding.

Tony sank down to sit on the floor with his back against the wall. The lulling sound of Gibbs strong strokes almost like a lullaby to him.

As Tony sat there he finally managed to calm his raging feelings and thoughts. The anger, numbness and disappointment all bled away with the steady rhythm coming from his right side. He submerged himself so deep within his flighty mind, he didn't even notice Gibbs before a jar of alcohol was thrust up under his sensitive nose.

He took the jar soundlessly, sipping it carefully. He didn't want to get pissed tonight; tonight he wanted someone to tell him that he wasn't just some jock who was hired to lighten the mood in the workplace. He needed to know that they took him seriously; all of them. Not just a few.

He needed to know that everyone didn't think him a shallow rich brat who whined and sniffled about everything. But, at the same time, he really didn't need anyone to go digging too deep, either. He had spent years perfecting his mask; he couldn't afford slipping now.

His head jerked to the side when the heavy presence of Gibbs sunk down beside him. The older man grunted as his knee cracked noisily and shifted until he was sitting in the same position as the flighty cop-turned-agent beside him.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a long while, until Gibbs took the barely touched drink from Tony's limp hands.

"I got your six, Tony," Gibbs grumbled as he took a sip, looking into space.

Tony managed a quivering smile as he let all the tension and bad memories fly away. His brain settled comfortably; all the bad thoughts made him feel slightly guilty, but he pushed it away. Ziva didn't need to know how he felt.

"Thanks, boss."

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This is my personal view of Ziva in the earlier episodes. If you disagree, then go ahead; you needn't tell me.  
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	2. Chapter 2

I took your (the reviewers) point into consideration, and I found myself agreeing. I will, however, not add more to this story. Thank you.

* * *

The dinner had been delicious.

The company had been... alright.

She had greeted them at the door, her usual serious frown had morphed into a warm, welcoming smile as she ushered them through the door. The apartment was a reflection of the young woman to the dot. There wasn't a singly article of clothing lying on the floor, not even a speck of dust. The dining table was set with such perfection Gibbs had wondered; for only a slight second, if he was underdressed.

As the evening progressed, the food served and the wine bottle opened, Gibbs couldn't help but notice that someone was missing. Apparently, he wasn't the only one.

Halfway through the dinner Abby had asked with a bubbly voice if the infamous Anthony DiNozzo had a _really_ hot date that night, since he wasn't there.

Ziva had averted her eyes for a second; too fast for a normal person to notice, but not too fast for Gibbs to notice. She had shrugged her petite shoulders, giving a sad smile, saying she had offered him an invitation, but he had declined.

Gibbs had narrowed his eyes. Tony would never decline an invitation to go to his partner's home. Tony had been trying very hard – maybe a little too hard – to get to know the Israeli woman.

He had let the thought go; he had trusted Ziva to tell the truth.

No one had questioned her, and moved on throughout the night in a happy mood; drinking and laughing merrily together. Well, Gibbs obviously didn't 'laugh merrily', but he was content sitting there watching his team socialize together. Tony flittered across his mind several times, the phone in his pocket felt heavier the later the hour became.

It had been quite obvious Ziva hadn't invited Tony the next day when Gibbs stalked into the bullpen. He could see the disappointment swimming deep inside those green eyes.

Everyone did mistakes.

Gibbs decided then and there that he had made a mistake trusting Ziva not to lie.

He kept his tongue throughout the day. He was busy finding his two wayward agents who had managed to lock themselves inside a container filled with alleged explosives. As the hours grew darker and Ziva and Tony still weren't found, Gibbs' emotional walls cracked. The fear and anxiety had washed over him like a raging tsunami.

Gibbs had managed to keep himself from hugging his two agents as they got out from the container.

The anger then came rushing forth with a vengeance. Why did they always make him feel like this? No one was supposed to make him _feel._

Not since Shannon and Kelly. He didn't deserve it.

Regret had burned through his body when he sat in the car that night. He felt like groaning out load, hitting his head on the steering wheel. He didn't, of course; he had more self control then that. But obviously not enough to curb his anger at his agents; and certainly not enough from stopping the wicked words and smile that had flittered across his face in the bullpen that night.

The look on Tony's face was burned into Gibbs' brain. The look of shock and hurt was going to stay with him for a long while. He knew it.

As he stepped into his home, heading directly to the kitchen to put on some coffee, Gibbs decided he needed to apologize to the younger Italian man. Of course he wouldn't say it out load; a sign of weakness, after all.

He would make it up to the man that had made a place for himself inside Gibbs' jaded heart. Steak and beer would do it. Knowing Tony, there would probably a film playing on the outdated TV at some point during the evening.

Drinking up the mug of scorching coffee, Gibbs decided to go do what he did every night; tend to his beloved boat. Or what was going to be a boat someday.

It didn't take very long before he heard his front door being opened and heavy steps stopping in his sitting room. As the footsteps progressed to his basement door, Gibbs couldn't stop the smile that flitted across his face.

He could recognise those footsteps everywhere. Tony was here.

He continued doing what he was doing; sanding the wood that would someday be the bow of the boat.

The silence that fell over them wasn't strained, it was comfortable. Something familiar that warmed them both. Gibbs heard the younger man sigh. Acting on impulse, Gibbs picked a jar filled with screws, dumped them on the workbench and filled the jar up with the bourbon he had hidden down there.

As he walked towards his agent; his friend, Gibbs; yet again, couldn't stop the smile that flitted across his face.

He would make it better; he promised himself.

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